


Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls

by that_frickin_frick



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Art Conservation, Art conservator Loki, Artist Loki (Marvel), Artist Thor, Artists, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, How Do I Tag, M/M, New York City, Skyscrapers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_frickin_frick/pseuds/that_frickin_frick
Summary: Professional art conservator Loki Laufeyson has been living a perfect, manicured routine that he's perfected for six years straight. Get up, get coffee, walk to the train, go to work, go home. And that was exactly how he liked it.Until his perfect was ruined by Thor Odinson, the new 'jack of all trades' artist who's moved into the studio next door. Suddenly, his peaceful mornings filled with half-caf nonfat caramel macchiatos and classical music are ruined by blasting music from Thor's studio, and his absolute solitude in everyday life is interrupted by Thor regularly walking through his studio, just to talk.Loki's completely overloaded with frustration, and perhaps just a bit of attraction caused by this blond rich boy, who seems determined to find and drag to the surface Loki's inner, individual artist that had been personally locked away more than half a decade ago.





	1. One

The simple black key slipped into the lock with ease, just as it did every morning, and Loki turned it to the left, then the right, as he did every morning. The door pushed open, not emitting even the slightest creak, and Loki stepped into his studio. 

The angular, arching ceilings were a familiar sight, climbing up to create odd shadows that seemed to swirl and ripple like waves onto the black stained wood floors. His studio was blazing white, so much so it sometimes hurt his eyes, but he personally had felt that it complimented the gigantic widow looking out over a grey New York perfectly well. Currently, the window was streaked with rain, and it's cool glass made the entire room feel chilled. 

Loki stepped forward to the window and glanced down at the city, his eyes consumed the sharp angles of the skyscrapers before him, looking the same as everyday, dark and looming in that complex, glorious way that they always did. He glanced down at the street, which he had been walking on not ten minutes ago. A small smile crossed his face as he lifted his coffee to his lips and sipped at it.

A half-caf nonfat caramel macchiato, which he ordered from the Starbucks he walked to every morning. It wasn’t that far from his apartment, and he had long since convinced himself that he needed that daily exercise. The barista there, Charly, was quite the young woman. She spelled his name wrong every time, and he knew at this point it was on purpose. Today he had gotten ‘dumbass bitch’ on his cup, but he had just laughed it off. Really, Charly’s everyday antics were quite the refreshment. 

Then he had walked to the 6:30 train, which he was perfectly on time for, and rode it to the train stop half a mile from his studio. 

He proceeded to walk the rest of the way, quite happy to stretch his legs. 1147 steps was the average on how many steps it took him to get to work. He never really had anything on his mind while he walked, considering the simplicity of his life, so he counted his strides instead. Unfortunately, his walk to work this morning was the point that the furious downpour had started. Loki had ducked under his jacket, but he still hadn’t managed to completely keep himself dry. Even now, he was feeling quite damp and chilled to the bone. 

Shuddering, Loki flipped on the thermostat and turned it up, already ready to turn it down again. Just because his studio was on the top floor of Brennaman’s Gallery of the Greater Arts, didn’t make it hard to heat. In fact, he found that it heated faster than any other studio he had ever worked in. Which really didn’t mean much, considering he had worked at this particular studio for almost six years, ever since he was 18. Honestly, it had been a miracle he had gotten a job as what he was. He had originally just been working in the gallery, as someone to clean and keep everything together, but when their current conservator had passed away suddenly, with ten paintings that needed to be done by the next week, Loki stepped in and helped. 

Considering how long he had been here, and in this particular studio, he knew every single thing about it. He knew every crack and sliver. He knew that if you opened the far right cabinet, the upper left one would slide out of place in a matter of seconds (it had cost him quite a few black eyes.) He knew it took about 7-10 minutes of heating before he had to turn it down in fear of melting.

Loki padded forward to the black table in the middle of the room, which functioned basically as his desk. He used it for almost everything, excluding when he touched up paint; for that, he had a black easel across the room, right by the window. 

On his table, there was a painting. It was a new one, not the one he had left there the night before. This particular painting showcased a woman in a flowing white dress, looking over her shoulder. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back but was tucked nicely behind her ear. Her eyes were shining a grey that he had never seen before. They were almost brown, but they had a certain shine of joy in them that made him smile as he ran his thumb over the side of the rough canvas. 

The only thing that ruined the illusion of her being right before him was the large crack on the left side of the canvas, stretching over the entirety of it and almost reaching the top, which would have almost made it almost unsavable. 

It must have been from the early 1900s, considering the style. Loki almost purred as he rounded the table, looking at the sweet portrait’s every angle. His eyes shone as they did when he saw a new piece that he could give the life back to. It was quite refreshing, working with broken pieces like this. You could always give it a part of your soul to fix it up again. Sure, it took time and effort, but it was truly worth it in the end, seeing it so prettied up again. It felt as though you were the one who originally painted it, every time. 

There was a sticky note beside it, and in the neat scrawl of his director, he saw the words, ‘Fell on a chair. I expect this one back by the end of the week. It looks like it will pose quite the challenge.’ 

With a sigh, Loki stood, his eyes still glued to the woman on the canvas. He shimmed off the black, slightly damp jacket of his simple suit. He folded it over his arm and placed it on the white hook beside the dark oak door, as he had since the first day of his current position, and every day since. 

He rolled up his sleeves as he walked back to the table, picking up the sticky note and setting it on the counter, his mind already on how he could fix up the painting, completely lost from the simple actions he found his fingers doing in the absence of his mind. He glanced over at the young woman on the canvas once more, a slight wondering in his mind. He could never help but wonder how and when the paintings he dealt with became actual paintings and not just figments of the artists’ imaginations. Everyone who did art could say they sometimes kept their works in their head, never to be seen, or heard, or even thought of again. 

For this particular painting, Loki wondered if it was a portrait. Perhaps of the daughter of a rich father who had long since been forgotten, and now she lived only on the canvas, the only thing of her legacy left. Perhaps she was the artist’s lover, a pretty thing he met off the streets and called into his bed. Maybe the artist imagined her only in his mind. Maybe she was a figment of his imagination. And the client?

The client could have known the young woman in this painting as a great-grandmother, or even a woman related to them that they had never heard of or known. They could have even just bought the painting off the market, with no clue who it was or anything about her, except that they liked the look in her eyes, that same unbounded joy that Loki now looked upon. 

As he mused, Loki found that he had already pulled the painting off of its stretcher, placing the birch square aside to be recycled, he knew that Joanna from level 34 was currently looking for some, for that same wooden project she was dreaming of. The one that had cost her hours of time, but was yet to be finished. Loki found that he often thought negatively of the artists in his building, as they all seemed to have ideas that were so big that they could never be achieved. He himself was content with his simple black and white studio, and the same routine he did every day. His work was meditative, even though the other artists called it unoriginal. Loki found the nature of his work ten times more beautiful than some sculpture from level 3, or a copied pencil sketch from floor 17. 

Loki’s pretty brows furrowed from the thoughts in his mind as he dusted off the back of the painting, distaste clucking his tongue. He raised his head and spoke out to the device in the room which played music, which had been a white elephant gift from one of the office parties. It had held up surprising well over 2 years, and could still function. He told it to play his favorite playlist, the one he listened to every day. It was a collection of classical pieces from his favorite composers and orchestras, and it always lifted his soul in his chest, flooding inspiration through him. 

As Gymnopedie no. 1 crooned through the speakers, Loki grabbed some of his favorite glue dissolving mixture and a pair of latex gloves, which he pulled onto his hands.   
Loki pulled the single black, wooden chair in his studio to his table and sat down on it. He leaned forward to look at the painting, taking a wooden dowel with a cotton ball on it and dipping it into his dissolvant. With the same precise hand he always used at work, he gently coated the strip lining on the edge, so he could remove it.   
As he worked his mind wandered, flowing over the sweet waves of melody, and the push and pull of the bass that vibrated in his chest. No matter how many times he listened to his collection of these 23 songs, he always found a new note that shocked him, in every listen. 

Indeed, Loki took pride in his music. Really, he found that most people he knew preferred the mainstream composers, like Mozart or Beethoven. But Loki himself was more prone to listening to composers from France, such as Chopin, or Debussy. Honestly, he could not believe that people listened to that horrible German… noise. These songs, even to be considered as glorious was an understatement. They carried his soul on wings of high notes and melodies.   
Indeed, anything other than what he listened to almost made his head hurt. 

Loki softly bit his lip as he peeled away the strip lining, getting the scalpel he had left on the table last night to get under it and pry up the cloth. 

Just as he was finishing the last side, a fluttering knock sounded from his door. Loki looked up from the cloth strip he now held in his hand, shocked. 

He never got visitors up here. He was on the top floor, 40, and nobody really bothered to come up here. He was the only person up here, out of the two gigantic studios up here, he occupied one and the other, as far as he knew, was used as storage. 

Loki straightened and pulled off his gloves, tossing them in the garbage while he walked towards the door. He pulled it open and glanced out of his studio into the corridor.   
In his doorway stood Heimdall, the director of the building. The man was wearing his usual pressed brown tweed suit, with a golden handkerchief tucked into the front pocket.   
“Oh,” Loki let out with his breath, instantly tensing up, “Heimdall, come in, please.” He stepped back and out of the way. 

Heimdall stepped inside, closing the door behind him softly. “Loki,” He said, in that clear, yet mysterious way only he could emit. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Loki watched, nodding his head as his director stepped over to his table, his fingers brushing against the wood. His golden eyes examined Loki’s current work and then turned to look back at the worker. 

“We’re hiring a new employee,” Heimdall said, leaning on Loki’s chair.

“Ah,” Loki responded, confused a slight bit. “Yes, of course. And how does this involve me?” Suddenly his eyes flashed as his mind chomped at the possibilities of the meaning of this. “Have you finally decided to develop a conservation department? Are you hiring a trainee?” 

Loki had been the only art conservator all six years that he had worked here, and he had been encouraging the directors, as they came and went, to make a department for his work. After all, it was becoming more mainstream, and he really had hoped that would encourage them. He had been quite half-hearted in all his attempts to convince Heimdall, as he seemed the kind of person who couldn’t really be swayed from the will that was all his own. Apparently, he had been wrong.

Or so he thought. Until Heimdall shook his head. “No, Loki. I’m sorry. The man we’re hiring is a sort of jack of all trades, he won’t fit anywhere else, so we’re putting him in the other studio up here. You knew we would put people up here, Loki.”

Loki stared at him, dumbstruck. Yes. He had been told there was a strong possibility that there would be another artist moved up here with him. That was when the company was expanding rapidly and were hiring left and right. That was five years ago. Then the company had lost trillions when a plane of their most famous art had gone down into the Atlantic, and all of it was lost to the decay of the sea. 

Then, they had started firing people left and right. Loki had figured at that point he would be alone on the top floor forever. 

“A jack of all trades?” He stammered out, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

A slight smile crossed Heimdall’s lips, “It means that he does everything. Sculpt, paint, sketch, craft, design.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I suppose that he does everything except for art conservation.”

Loki’s mouth stuck into a frown. “Well then he’s not really a jack of all trades, now is he?”`

Heimdall chuckled and nodded his head. “I suppose he’s not. But that was how he was marketed to me.”

“Marketed to you?” Loki asked, just a bit worried. “What do you mean? Is he being sold to you or something?”

Heimdall shook his head, running his thumb over his jawline. “No. I was just told by the old director that if I had the opportunity to hire him, I should do so. He recently left his sponsor so I reached out with an offer, which he accepted. He said he was glad to join us, and he’ll start next week.”

Loki scoffed, “Sounds like he gets more credit than he deserves.”

Heimdall’s eyes shone with amusement, watching Loki squirm. “Perhaps. He also is the son of a very rich man, who I’m certain will donate to us now that his son worked here.”

“Aha! So you just want him for the money!” Loki laughed out, “I should have known. Another rich boy with no talent that leeches off his parents even though he’s well past being independent. Great. I would prefer anyone over him. Even Joanna.”

Heimdall laughed broadly, his voice reverberating off the clean white walls of Loki’s studio. “The world runs on money, Loki. And this gallery needs it just as much as the next.”

Loki narrowed his eyes and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. “Yeah. Of course. I just don’t think that he deserves a position here if you’re only hiring him for the money his father earns. I certainly won’t treat him like a professional just because his daddy has enough money that other people treat him like he is. I bet he doesn’t even do art... Or at least good art.” 

Heimdall rolled his eyes and walked away from Loki’s table and towards him, patting the brunette on the back. “He actually is pretty good, Loki. I’ve seen his art myself. And that is why I’m hiring him. Not because of his father. The money is just a bonus.” With long, powerful strides, Heimdall reached the door. He turned back to look at Loki, his smile gone. “As I said before, he’ll be here on Monday. You have the weekend to get your attitude in check, you will not be the reason he quits. I expect you to be calm, collected and teach him the ropes of this company. No snark. No insults. Do not get on my bad side with this, Laufeyson. There will be no second chances.” 

Loki nodded his head, his jaw squared, and watched as his director left him alone.

As soon as the door was closed, and ten seconds had passed, Loki let out a loud groan and collapsed onto his chair. He had dreaded this day for years. He had always known that eventually, someone would have to join him up here, but that didn’t mean that he had been looking forward to it. And now that he had the image of a fat, greasy, middle-aged man who thought he could do art even though he definitely couldn’t, Loki was even more determined to hate him. 

Loki rubbed at his face, already contemplating how he could convince the man to quit without getting himself fired. He could always… just sleep with him. It wouldn’t exactly have been the worst thing he had done to his body. But no. Even the thought of it made him shiver. He would never destroy his body like that. It would be like painting himself in pig’s blood. Absolutely disgusting. It would stain him forever. 

Or he could sell his soul to the devil. 

Or he could just fucking deal with it. 

Either way, it wasn’t fun. 

And sitting here in his chair feeling sorry for himself wasn’t making him any money, anyhow. 

With a sigh, Loki lifted himself from his seat and walked to the cabinet in the room which held the fabric he used for strip lining. He opened the cabinet gently, and removed the fabric as carefully as possible, not wanting to disturb anything he had placed in the cabinet. Really, it was quite the opposite of what he wanted to do. He wanted to shove the cabinet over and scream loud enough to deafen the entire state, but he didn’t. Heimdall probably wouldn’t appreciate such an action. Nobody would, really. 

Loki glanced back at his painting and sighed. “Why can’t I be like you? Just simple and beautiful and completely frozen in time.” 

Of course, there was no reply.

He huffed out a sigh and crossed the room, setting the fabric on the table and unravelling it a bit. 

The only thing he knew for certain right now, was that he was dreading going to work on Monday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happen to be playing a drinking game, I suggest adding the word 'Studio' to your list

Monday was indeed, not turning out how Loki wanted it to. First, Charly wasn’t at his usual Starbucks. Second, he missed his train because it was early for once. And third, he remembered that the new spoiled rich kid was starting today. It was also raining, even though the forecast had predicted it would just be cloudy, so he was incredibly underdressed. Between his thin jacket which was not really made to touch any sort of water unless it was safely contained in a washing machine and his tennis shoes which were absolutely soggy the second he left the Starbucks, he was soaking wet and miserable. 

By the time he got to work, Loki’s mood had already been ruined by the obstacles which arose during his two hours of being awake. 

When he got to the second floor, Kate got on with him. She was from level 14, a photographer. Kate had never liked Loki, as he had refused when she asked him to sleep with him within her first month in the building. Kate had been infuriated, but she still hung around Loki, hoping for an opportunity to get with him. She honestly was only interested in sex, and it drove Loki mad. Whatever happened to the never sleep with your co-workers rule? Apparently, Kate had never heard of it. 

From levels 2 to 8, all Kate could talk about was how excited she was to have a new person in the building. She went into detail about how much she craved it, how much she missed having someone new to talk to. 

Loki felt like clawing his own ears off, just to shut her up.

“I mean, like, how long has it been since we got someone new?” She asked. “Like, two years.”

“No,” Loki interrupted with a sigh, “Kyle was new last month. You just mean, when did the last person I wanted to fuck start here? That was two years ago.” He rubbed his brow in frustration and listened to Kate stammer about how that wasn’t true. He could tell she was blushing just from the temperature change in the confined space. 

When the elevator pinged again, signaling it was on floor 14, Kate exited, her head lowered in embarrassment. 

Loki relished in the silence, leaning his head back against the cold metal of the elevator wall, and closing his already exhausted eyes. He breathed out a sigh, which did warm up the metal just a bit, but not truly enough to make it heated or comforting. 

He listened to the elevator let out 28 more soft signals before the door opened onto his floor.

Loki took a deep breath inward, preparing himself for what he was sure was going to be the worst day of his entire life. He knew that there was a large probability the new guy would be self-centered enough to think that Loki would actually want to talk to him. Which he would be wrong about, of course. Loki didn’t want to talk to anyone.

He stepped out onto the black wood and glanced around. Shockingly, the floor seemed to be completely empty. No coworkers had wandered up to wish the new man luck, and he couldn’t even see the man himself. The hallway, lit only by two bright white lights in the ceiling, which was that only space on the floor that wasn’t a studio, was completely empty and just as dark as always. Loki glanced at the studio closer towards him, which had until today been a storage room, and felt curiosity boiling in him. 

Biting his lip, Loki walked down the hallway towards the first door, the new studio. He didn’t even glance at the door of his own studio. Rather, his hand landed on the knob to the door of the opposite. 

Slowly, and as quietly as possible, he turned the knob until it clicked, and the door pulled silently open. 

It was absolutely black inside, and much colder than any room in the building Loki had ever entered. It didn’t have any of the storage items that had been inside last he had known, but rather he could faintly see the outlines of a few supplies he recognized. An easel, a pottery wheel, a sculpting turntable. If any of them had projects around them, or if the walls had any paintings or frames on them, he couldn’t see them in this lighting. 

Now sure that the room had nobody in it, Loki pulled away and closed the door. 

He turned on his heel, took look long strides towards his own studio and then stopped as soon as he could truly see it, his eyes narrowing. 

Long beams of white light stretched across the floor from underneath his door. The only light that wasn’t from the overhead bulbs was shining on his black shoes. 

Loki knew for a fact that he had turned his light off. In fact, he knew that the studios here had motion activated lights. Quite a few times, actually, he had been working so hard on a project and moving so little, that the lights turned off completely. 

He really had no idea what could be in that room. Heimdall wouldn’t have gone in without permission. He hadn’t seen anyone on the way up, and nobody from the lower studios ever dared to come to see him. They all thought he was “passive-aggressive” and “snarky.” 

Total bullshit of course, who in the world would think Loki was snarky? 

With his lips pursed, Loki opened the door to his studio and stepped inside, not even sure what he should expect. 

His room looked absolutely pristine. Every single painting on the wall was perfectly straight, the tools he had left on his desk were arranged in their perfect lines, the floor was scrubbed clean. 

Really, the only thing out of place was the man standing in front of the window, gazing outward. 

He was big, muscular, Loki could tell that even though his back was turned to him. His golden hair was tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck, and he was dressed quite smartly in a casual short-sleeved, olive green button down and some black dress pants, which he paired with a brown belt.

He didn’t look like a person who would be robbing an art studio. Especially since he was only looking out the window. 

Loki cleared his throat, “May I help you?” He asked. 

The man turned to look at Loki and smiled. He was attractive, more so than Loki expected. He had a sharply cut jaw and shining cerulean eyes that, paired with some tastefully cut scruff and his golden tan skin, he looked like some kind of model. 

“I’m sorry for intruding. Heimdall told me that if you weren’t here I should just go inside.”

Loki stared at him for a second, with still no clue who he was or what he could have wanted. 

Then it hit him. 

“Oh,” He laughed out. “You must be the owner of ‘Venus, Adonis, and Cupid!’ Don’t apologize for coming in then, I’m happy to help any of my clients, especially to return their paintings. It’s actually right over here on the wall for you.” Loki stepped across the room and gestured to the painting. 

It was in beautiful condition for its age. The only real touching up the Loki had done was cleaning it, giving it a new stretcher, and repairing a few patches of paint that had scraped off of the canvas. The painting depicted, as its title said, Adonis, Venus, and Cupid. They were all in a forest, with Venus holding Cupid in her arms beneath a tree. It looked as if Adonis and his dogs had caught them mid-hunt, as he was holding a gorgeous bow in one hand. He and Venus were staring at each other, both looking quite shocked. Loki wondered if perhaps the hunter was so surprised because of Venus being mostly nude. He certainly hadn’t been. According to paintings, most everybody in ancient Greece had been naked. Even though Loki saw actual women naked very rarely, and cared to see one even less, whenever he saw one naked in a painting, he didn’t even flinch.

It was a truly stunning painting, in Loki’s opinion. And he told the man so. “ Your painting is really quite beautiful. Annibale Carracci was a wonderful artist. I think this painting was quite a lucky grab. It’s-”

Before he could finish, Loki was interrupted by the man. 

“I do agree that whoever owns this painting is quite lucky, but I’m not the owner.” 

Loki turned to look at him. “What?” He asked, his eyebrows raised. 

“This painting isn’t mine.” The man repeated, his eyes still on the artwork. 

Loki nodded his head, “So you’re the owner of Portrait of a Young Woman?” 

The man shook his head. “No, actually. I’m not the owner of any of your paintings. I’m not one of your clients.”

Loki stared at him, his eyes blank. He had known that a client would be stopping in today, but he wasn’t certain when, or who, so he kind of wondered if this man was just pulling his leg. He definitely looked the type to own art of some kind. 

The man looked at Loki, their eyes meeting, and smiled softly. “I just started here today. Heimdall told me you would be showing me the ropes. So I figured I would stop in and ask you how things went around here.” 

Loki continued to stare at him. 

“I’m Thor. Thor Odinson, the new artist.” 

“Oh,” Loki murmured, “You’re the ‘jack of all trades,’ huh?” 

Thor laughed loudly, the kind of laugh that vibrated in your chest and made you smile without thinking. “Yeah, I guess you could call me that. Did you think of that just now?” 

Loki shook his head. “No, actually Heimdall used it when explaining to us that you were coming to join us here.” 

“I’ll have to talk to him about that,” Thor said, nodding his head thoughtfully. He talked his large hans into the pockets of his trousers and pursed his lips. “Anway, what do you have to tell me about this place?”

Loki looked past him out the window, at the suddenly dull city. He hadn’t anticipated this. Heimdall knew damn well that he was not qualified to explain the workings of this company. He didn’t pay any attention to any of his fellow artists, let alone to what the other people around here did. 

He walked towards the window, distancing himself from the strange heat Thor gave off, and soaking back up the cold. He placed his hand on the window, and savored the numbness that seeped into his skin. 

“You said Odinson, right?” Loki asked after a long moment of silence. 

“I did.”

“As is Odin Odinson, that old dude that’s always on the news for owning a company nobody really knows the purpose of?”

Thor laughed again, and Loki could feel his eyes on his back. “Yes,” He rumbled. “That’s my father.” 

Loki nodded and worried his lip, his sharp eyes catching insignificant raindrops racing each other down the window. And then, something focused, and all he saw was Thor. The man stood prone, his shoulders appearing to be broader as he watched Loki’s back. 

Loki watched his reflection for a long moment, his vision tunneling until all he could see was this man. This man who had wandered into Loki’s studio with the hope of a helping hand. This son of a trillionaire who shone like the sun. This great beast who could be as insignificant as the drops Loki had watched moments before. His eyes were glancing around the room with content, and the tension in his chest made the feeling of his heavy sigh bubble within the room before it even slipped from his chest. 

The two men stood absolutely silently now, both watching each other, both thinking the other was none the wiser. 

Until, quite suddenly, cerulean eyes met evergreen in the glass of the window, amongst the cutting wind and pelting rain. 

The illusion shattered immediately. 

Whirling on his feet suddenly, Loki looked at Thor. “I don’t think that Heimdall actually told me that I would have to be helping you along, so I believe you’ll have to just figure it out yourself.” He said sharply, slicing the webs of curiosity and content that the silence had weaved between them. 

“Oh,” Thor muttered, looking abashed. “I’m sorry. I must have misheard him.” He took one more fleeting glance around the room, and then took a step backward, away from Loki. 

“Indeed you must have,” Loki agreed. 

“I guess that I’ll go, then. Let you work…” 

“That would be nice.” 

Thor turned towards the door then, reaching out to grab it, before Loki stopped him with a single word. 

“Wait.”

Thor turned and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?” 

“Those doors over there lead to your studio,” Loki said, pointing to the french doors that he had hated throughout his entire stay at this building. “It will be shorter if you go that way. “

“Oh,” Thor uttered. “I guess I’ll go that way, then.” 

Loki nodded and watched as he crossed the floor and opened the doors. 

They shared one more look, and Thor said, “Goodbye then, Loki.” 

And then he walked through the doors and closed them behind him. 

With Thor’s back still to him, Loki dashed across the floor and unlaced the black curtains he’d had installed years ago, but never used. They fell together with a whoosh, and left Loki with only a slight glance at Thor’s back. 

Loki laughed out loud, happy to defeat the enemy, or well, companion. 

He turned and looked back at his studio, only to find that it felt suddenly empty. He glanced around him at the perfectly ordinary surroundings, and found he thought that the room looked devastatingly empty of the color gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the part with the window. I was kind of high off no sleep while I wrote that, so it's kinda garbage and I little weird. So yeah

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, so there you go. This is an adaptation from a roleplay that has since died, and I just wanted to give this plotline a chance to shine. I should update again soon, but I'm not 100% sure


End file.
